Breaches
by lionesseyes13
Summary: They say if you change the point of view of a story, you have a different tale, so what was Qui-Gon’s perspective of the scene in Episode I when he rejects Obi-Wan in favor of Anakin before the Council and its aftermath?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This was written upon request of Derek Metaltron for his 10th anniversary celebration of the release of the_ Phantom Menace_. I hope that you will enjoy it. I've never tried to write anything from Qui-Gon's perspective before, so there is a lot of room for my creative juices to make a mess here, but that's the fun of writing, right?

There will be at least two more chapters in this series.

Reviews: Feedback is always as welcome as air conditioning is in my sweltering school in May and June.

Shadows

Waiting. The first lesson any Jedi learned was how to do that. This was very practical considering how much time the average being probably spent waiting. You waited on line at the bank, you waited for the airbus to reach your stop, and, if you were a Jedi as I was, you waited for the Council to reach a consensus and call you in to inform you of their decision.

Typically, I didn't mind waiting. I wasn't one for grumbling under my breath, complaining loudly about the delay to anyone within earshot, or checking my chrono every ten seconds with a sigh to see exactly how much time had elapsed since I last glanced at the screen. Yet, now I could feel my blood starting to boil as impatience rose within me. Honestly, considering how every member of the Council's views often seemed to be identical to the perspectives of everyone else who made up that body, it could take them an awfully long time to arrive at a decision.

Glancing to my right at my Padawan, who was seated on the sofa beside me, I saw all too clearly that he was barely restraining himself from speaking. At the moment, I hoped he would remain silent. I wasn't in the mood to hear from him how the Council's decision was foregone, since they would never agree to violate tradition enough to train Anakin Skywalker. I didn't need him to confirm what I already knew. I was painfully aware of how dogmatic the Council could be in their championing of the status quo.

They embraced stability, and that, of necessity, meant limiting change. Of course, the problem was that, if there was no change, things could never get any better. Just because something had been done for centuries didn't mean it was the best manner in which to do it. After all, candles did provide light, but glowsticks were much more useful in many circumstances. If it were up to the Council, we would still have been using candles and flimsi, instead of glowsticks and datapads. They would see nothing wrong with this state of affairs, either, because the old technology worked, and Obi-Wan would probably agree with them on that. He agreed with them on everything else, after all. He was probably Yoda's attempt at foisting orthodoxy on me.

Yes, Yoda's maneuverings to match Obi-Wan with me were so that I would get tired of fighting both the Council and my apprentice at every turn. That was enough to try the patience of any Jedi.

It was time to go for a walk, then. Walking would rid me of my impatience, and then, maybe, I could think clearly.

"Come on, Obi-Wan," I ordered, rising. "Let's go for a walk." He seemed to have all the answers. Maybe that certainty would rub off on me.

Obediently, he pushed himself to his feet without comment, although I could tell that he would have preferred to remain where he was. He liked to stay in one spot when he was contemplating something, as though he imagined that external stillness would cultivate inner calm. However, I had given a command, and he would obey. I could rely on that. Dependability was Obi-Wan's middle name, and I could count on one hand the number of times I could remember him defying me. None of them had been over something as petty as preferring to remain seated.

Together, we strode down the marble corridor lined with pillars and glowsticks that were now dimming to a meditative hush as dusk settled over this half of Coruscant. As we progressed down the hallway, the sounds of our boots slapping the floor reverberated unnaturally loudly in my eardrums.

It wasn't odd for quiet to fall between my apprentice and me, because both of us were rather reserved. However, this silence wasn't the comfortable kind that normally happened between us― the sort that occurs when two people are so familiar with each other that they no longer require words to communicate. No, it was an awkward one that was packed with stifled emotions one didn't dare to express. After all, if they sounded horrible in your heart, they would sound even more terrible aloud.

Right now, I was positive that his preference for sitting and thinking rather than walking and thinking wasn't the only feeling Obi-Wan was concealing from me. Was that an accurate reading of the situation, though? Was I letting my emotions sway my interpretations? Was I projecting my feelings onto my Padawan?

Surely, he must be reflecting on something, though. Obi-Wan was always collecting data, sifting through it, analyzing it, and then drawing some conclusion from it. Therefore, since he wasn't speaking what was on his mind, he was hiding his thoughts from me.

"The boy will not pass the Council's tests, Master, and you know it." We had reached the end of the corridor and were about to step out onto a terrace that overlooked the ecumenopolis that was Coruscant when Obi-Wan elected to share his musings with me. Apparently, this had been on his mind for a long time, and he had finally devised what he saw as a tactful enough way to share it. "He is far too old."

Staring out at the cityscape that was glittering like precious gems in the dying pink and muja streams of waning sunlight, I thought that he needn't have bothered sharing that with me. I already knew that Anakin's odds of passing the Council's tests were about as good as those of a snow crystal surviving on Tatooine. Still, there were methods by which one could circumvent the Council. Perhaps if Obi-Wan weren't so rigidly logical, he would spot as much. Somehow, he still never thought about going around the rules despite his years of training with me.

"Anakin will become a Jedi, I promise you," I assured him steadily. Whatever I had to do, I would see to that, because nothing was more important than guaranteeing that the Chosen One was properly trained. As flawed as the Jedi Council's decisions were at times, nobody but the Jedi could teach Anakin how to utilize his gifts so that he could fulfill his destiny, and his destiny must be fulfilled. The Dark Side was on the ascent again, as my harrowing duel with the Sith on Tatooine had demonstrated. As such, it only made sense that our greatest hope would arrive now that our worst enemy had stepped out of the shadows once more after their millennium in hiding.

I expected Obi-Wan to repeat his argument, perhaps with the added declaration that Anakin would pass the Council's tests when Mustafar became as cold as Hoth. However, that was the response of the boy that I had first taken as my Padawan, not that of the man beside me. The man beside me was acquainted with me enough to recognize that I was referring to breaking the rules again.

"Don't defy the Council, Master. Not _again_," he warned, his tone conveying his disapproval of the idea.

Reflexively, I stiffened. I didn't appreciate him questioning my judgment. I had always relied on my instincts, and I wasn't going to stop just because my apprentice wanted me to. How he justified lecturing me for defying the Council when he was guilty of questioning his own Master was beyond my understanding. Whatever his rationalization was, it didn't make his behavior any less grating.

"I will do what I must, Obi-Wan," I countered, my voice soft, but as intractable as durasteel. Shifting my gaze from an airbus filled with homeward-bound commuters that was whizzing by in the lane closest to us, I regarded him testily. "Would you have me be any other way?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, most likely to answer that he would have me be less of a maverick and champion of long lost causes if he could. Then, apparently thinking better of what he meant to say, he snapped his mouth shut again. Plainly, when it came down to it, he loved me for who I was. He wouldn't want me to be any different, because then I wouldn't be the Qui-Gon Jinn he cared about so much.

I could relate to that feeling. After all, no matter how much I complained about Obi-Wan being too logical and too focused on following the Code to the letter, I wouldn't want to change his true character.

Besides, even if we could have changed each other, we would have been fools to do so. We made an exceptional team. Everyone had to admit that, no matter how much they gossiped about how my roguish ways would corrupt obedient Obi-Wan, or how strange it was that the maverick Jedi had selected such a conventional Padawan. Such Jedi didn't understand that in our differences we found our strengths. If Obi-Wan hadn't been conventional enough to surrender his will to mine, we would not have been able to function half as well as we did.

"Master, you could be sitting on the Council right now if you would just follow the Code." Obi-Wan's pronouncement tugged me away from my thoughts. Glancing at him, I saw the steady burning in his eyes that informed me more effectively than words that he was being completely truthful.

He might not have been wrong. I didn't care if he was right or not in his analysis. I remained loyal to my own view of what the Force whispered to me, no matter what the Council determined, and someone who was less interested in the group than in the individual wouldn't be promoted to the Council. That didn't signify, though. It was better to have freedom than prestige.

I couldn't explain this now, for he had never bought it in the past when I had offered this statement in answer to similar assertions he had made after I had been at loggerheads with the Council. As such, I just shrugged, an action which seemed to irk him.

For a moment, I watched as he throttled back his temper. Nothing vexed him more than when he didn't believe I was taking him seriously. Of course, he had always struggled with his anger. It wasn't, I had discovered, that he had more ire in him than the average boy enduring the agonizing transformation into manhood. It was simply that he was hesitant to show his emotions, which meant that it was a battle for him to find an appropriate outlet for his temper. It was also a conflict that he won more and more frequently now, as he acknowledged his anger and then channeled it into the Force. It might take him longer than some to do so, but he could do it. In the end, that was all that mattered. That was only one thing that I had taught him, though, there was still so much I had to impart on him.

No, that was silly. Obi-Wan knew more than enough to survive as a Knight in his own right. He had completed solo missions, and he was one of the most competent apprentices at the Temple. I had been intending to recommend him for Kinghthood upon the completion of this mission, so doing so now wouldn't make that much difference. It might be more abrupt than Obi-Wan would care for, but, in the end, it would amount to the same thing.

However, I sensed that it would take awhile for Obi-Wan to perceive events in that light. This would probably be the last moment of peace we would have for some time. It would also probably be the last time he would permit me to touch him until he had recovered from what I knew I would have to do if the Council refused to train Anakin.

"You still have much to learn, my young Padawan," I murmured, draping a hand across his shoulder and smiling slightly at him. I hoped that the smile would say what I couldn't voice out loud, because maybe Obi-Wan wasn't the only one who was unable to express himself verbally as well as he would have liked. After all, I wished I could have told him that, whatever I said or did before the Council, it wasn't intended to wound him. He was the last person in the galaxy that I wanted to hurt.

In fact, the only reason I would seem to drop him in favor of Anakin was because he was ready. He would make a fine Jedi. I knew that as surely as I did my own name, and one day, the rest of the galaxy would recognize that, too. He was brave, determined, clever, and talented, even if he wasn't as strong in the Force as Anakin Skywalker was. That's why he would be my first gift to the Jedi, and Anakin would be my second. Why give only one present when you can offer two?

Maybe Obi-Wan sensed that I was trying to communicate something significant to him, for he stared at me for a long moment. Then, he seemed to decide that he didn't like what I was attempting to convey, and his eyes narrowed, as the final shadows of dusk settled around us, cloaking us and slipping in between us.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter isn't the best. I wrote it first in a notebook, and whenever I scribble something down in a notebook initially, I never like it as much as something I type up on the computer. That's what happens when you go on vacation to your second house that doesn't have a computer. Oh, well, I hope you enjoy my Memorial Day special anyway.

Black Holes

We didn't have to wait in the uncertain shadows for much longer before my comlink beeped. When I answered it, Master Windu informed me that the Council wished to see us again. Involuntarily, my stomach squeezed itself into coils as Obi-Wan and I returned to the Council chamber.

This was it. The words churned out of my heart and through my bloodstream with every heartbeat. The fact that the volume and tempo of this phrase kept elevating with each thud of my heart only increased my anxiety, and it required all my discipline to maintain a composed expression as Obi-Wan and I joined the faint-looking Anakin in the center mosaic.

Spotting Anakin's face, which was paler than a medic's gown, I wondered what sort of inquisition the Council had put him through. Really, he was a newly emancipated slave, so the Council could have attempted to treat him with a touch more sympathy. Of course, they couldn't have though.

However innocent Anakin might seem on the surface, the Council would perceive him as a threat to the stability of the Order, since his coming here called into question the tradition of not accepting any youngling over the age of three into Jedi training. Thus, the Council would be wary of him and want to keep him at arm's length much as a healthy person will distance himself from a colleague who is suffering from Rodian influenza.

"Correct you were, Qui-Gon," Master Yoda pronounced. At the sound of his gravelly voice, I dragged my mind away from such reflections. When his words sank in, I was positive that I had misheard, since it was an occurrence as common as meeting a thin Hutt for a member of the Council to support a claim of mine. Perhaps Yoda was being sarcastic. Yet, he hadn't waved his gimer cane in the general direction of my ankles or fixed me with the impish gaze that indicated he was being ironic. Yoda's sarcasm was apparent, which was why I went to Obi-Wan if I wanted subtle irony, and, at the moment, the aged Master seemed to be perfectly serious.

"The boy's cells contain a very high concentration of midichlorians," seconded Mace Windu in his typical grim fashion. Well, that settled it: Yoda must have been earnest, since Mace Windu couldn't understand a joke, nonetheless play one on someone. There was a man that made my Padawan look like a standup comedian by comparison.

"The Force is strong with him," contributed Ki-Adi-Mundi.

At this point, a wave of satisfaction swept through me. Even the Council had been compelled to admit that Anakin's midichlorian count was higher than anyone's had ever been, and, as a result, the Force was wrapped into every fiber of him. That meant that they would have to train Anakin, no matter how reluctant they were to do so. Still, the Council hadn't exactly established as much yet…

"He's to be trained, then," I reasoned aloud. I didn't phrase it as an inquiry, because if I didn't have faith in my proposals, then nobody else would.

The taut expressions the Council members all swapped with their neighbors and the sudden hush that befell the room were answer enough. No, the Council would not bend tradition enough to permit Anakin to be educated as a Jedi, even though no one had ever been as powerful in the Force as him, so there was no true precedent in this case. Just as plainly, nobody on the Council was volunteering to be the sentient who imparted this upon me. Thus, the chamber had quickly toppled head over heels into what I referred to as a black hole silence.

It was black hole silences that people feared worse than our ancestors had feared the Toli-X plague that had run rampant through the galaxy three centuries ago. It was the abyss of black hole silences that beings found themselves being inexorably pulled into like gravity into the chasm of a real black hole when nobody knew how to express themselves because what they were thinking and feeling was too terrible to share. It was black hole silences that transformed some people, who were so desperate to fill the void with anything, even nonsensical babble, into chatterboxes.

The moment spun out into an alternate universe in which time didn't pass at all for awhile until Mace Windu shattered the quiet.

"No," he asserted after the tense pause in which nobody in the chamber had seemed to breathe. "He will not be trained. He is too old, and there is already too much anger in him."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Obi-Wan's face settle into his "I-told-you-so-but-you-didn't-listen-to-me" expression. Clearly, he had managed to convince himself that there was nothing I could really do if the Council refused to accept Anakin. Certainly, he wouldn't have envisioned that I would do what I suspected that I would have to do.

First, though, I would appeal to the Council again, because if I had to follow my contingency plan, Obi-Wan would be wounded, and I didn't want that. I didn't want him to feel rejected yet again by me.

"He is the Chosen One," I insisted, resting my hands consolingly on Anakin's shoulder, since the child appeared on the verge of tears. This gesture was greeted with calculating, contracted eyes from Obi-Wan. He must have judged the touch too similar to one a Master would give his apprentice for his peace of mind. Did he sense what I was plotting, after all? Perhaps. He'd always been inconveniently clever, and he'd always perceived sentients in the most cynical light. Therefore, he tended to predict with alarming accuracy what actions people would take, even if he guessed their motives incorrectly. Shoving such ruminations out of my mind, I finished, "You must see it."

"Clouded this boy's future is," countered Yoda, shaking his head slowly. "Masked by his youth."

So I would need to do what I hoped I wouldn't have to. Well, when the Council frowned on my latest actions, they could just recollect that they had driven me, since I was every bit as stubborn as they were.

Taking a deep breath to fortify myself as though I were about to jump into a pool of frigid water, I declared, "I will train him, then. I take Anakin as my Padawan learner."

A Master had the right to choose whoever he wanted as his apprentice, even if, for centuries, the selection group had been confined to the Temple, and, even then, Masters were supposed to wait until initiates were eleven at least to approach them with an apprenticeship offer. Yet, those dictums were unwritten customs, not laws. They were not written in stone, and, if our founders had intended them to be, they would have inscribed them in stone, as most things were back then.

At my words, utter quiet descended over the chamber. Once again, it was as if no one was breathing. Perhaps nobody was. Maybe everyone was too shocked to inhale or exhale. Glancing around the room, I realized that if I had tried to scandalize myself I couldn't have done a better job. All the Council members were exchanging astonished looks with each other as if seeking confirmation that I had, in fact, established what they thought they had heard me state.

However, the Council's reaction was nothing compared to Obi-Wan's. At first, he reeled back as though someone had slapped him in the face. Then, he just gaped at me as if I had just sprouted nine gundark heads.

It was Yoda who recovered himself enough to speak for every Jedi, except myself, who was present. "An apprentice you have, Qui-Gon," he reminded me, scowling in disapproval. "Impossible to take on a second."

"We forbid it," Mace Windu added darkly, his tone calling to mind the foreboding gray clouds that heralded apocalyptic thunderstorms.

I had surmised that they would take this stance. That's why I had already chosen one Padawan. More to the point, I suspected that the Council was aware of what I was planning and was forcing me to either follow through or surrender. Unfortunately for them, I wasn't about to give in, for I would press on, no matter how discomfiting this experience became for everyone involved.

"Obi-Wan is ready," I began, gazing proddingly in his direction. Now, I required his support, and it wasn't like he could pretend that he didn't wish to be a Knight. After all, that was all he had ever desired.

"I am ready to face the trials," he told the Council hastily. Then, he glared at me. Obviously, he imagined that I was using him, but, just as clearly, he wasn't going to appear weak in front of the Council by seeming more attached to me than I was to him.

"Ready so early are you?" inquired Yoda sardonically. I wished that he wouldn't do this. Obi-Wan had always been haunted by uncertainties. Now, he would perceive my taking on Anakin in his place and Yoda's sarcasm as proof of his inadequacy. Of course, he would never notice that he was one of the most skilled apprentices at the Temple, and that if I didn't want him, many Masters would leap at the chance to complete what I had started and take some credit for how he turned out. It would also never occur to him that Yoda had always been a little fonder of him than of most other students. "What know you of ready?"

"He is headstrong, and he has much to learn about the Living Force," I allowed, "but he is capable. There is little more he will learn from me."

The look Obi-Wan focused on me conveyed quite eloquently that he appreciated the irony of me accusing anyone of being too stubborn. I wished that he would try to see this whole affair from my perspective. In the interest of Jedi humility, Masters weren't supposed to praise their pupils too much in front of them. As such, in the long run, life would be much less complicated for Obi-Wan if I abided by this convention.

Wouldn't it? Abruptly, I wasn't so confident. There was no precedent for dropping your Padawan in favor of another and then recommending him for Knightfood in the same breath. Maybe in a situation like that, I should have been freer with the compliments. Now, I could begin to comprehend why Obi-Wan and the Council stuck to the rules like maglevs did to their rails. When the rules were followed, everything was neat, and sentients conducted themselves in orderly manners because they recognized exactly where they stood in relationship to all others. After all, predictable events had perfectly foreseeable consequences.

It was when the rules were broken that chaos ensued. It was then that nobody knew how to behave. If one person failed to abide by the rules, then everybody else did not understand how to stay in their roles. It was so simple to bring everyone's lives crashing around them by just stepping out of line by a fraction. That's why when you were rocking the boat, you had to be careful that you didn't lose your own balance and plunge into the water. That was also why the Jedi Order had to be less rigid. Rigid objects couldn't bend; all they could do was shatter into a million shards when they smashed into permacrete.

"Our own counsel we will keep on who is ready," Yoda pronounced intractably. "More to learn he has."

I was about to debate the point further when Mace Windu intervened brusquely, "Now is not the time for this. The Senate is voting for a new Supreme Chancellor, and Queen Amidala has decided to return home. That will put pressure on the Trade Federation."

"And could draw out the Queen's attacker," reasoned Ki-Adi-Mundi.

"Go with the Queen to Naboo, and discover the identity of this dark warrior," commanded Mace Windu, steepling his fingers. "That is the clue we need to unravel this mystery of the Sith."

If you asked me, there was no mystery. The warrior I had confronted on Tatooine was as certainly a Sith as Coruscant was the capital of the Galactic Republic. I had no problem with continuing the Naboo mission, but I wished that the Council wouldn't employ it as an excuse to be rid of me when we had resolved nothing.

"Young Skywalker's fate will be decided later," finished Master Yoda, perhaps sensing the thoughts darting about inside my brain.

At the moment, that seemed to be the best I could hope for, although I still needed one more allowance. "I brought Anakin here. He must stay in my charge. He has nowhere else to go," I persisted.

"He is your ward, Qui-Gon," Mace Windu acceded wearily. "We will not dispute that."

"Train him not," stipulated Yoda at his most emphatic. "Take him with you, but train him not."

"Protect the Queen, but do not intercede if it comes to war," Mace Windu concluded, waving a hand in dismissal, "and may the Force be with you."

At this traditional Jedi benediction, we bowed and left the chamber to catch an airbus back to the Senate landing pad where Queen Amidala had left her vessel. Throughout the journey back to the landing platform, a black hole silence filled the airbus, but the black hole silence was preferable to the heated exchange that began once the quiet was finally banished.


	3. Chapter 3

Discontent and Disagreements

The airtaxi ride back to the Senatorial platform where Queen Amidala's starship that cost more than the average Ugnaught laborer earned in a decade awaited to transport us all back to Naboo to confront the Trade Federation once more was a quiet one. Anakin was gaping out of the transparisteel viewport at the planetwide city whizzing by beneath us.

Obviously, the sight of the minarets, the plazas, the domes, the conapts, the skytowers, and the superskytowers awed him. The glittering edifices, the culture, the bustle, and the flashing neon holosigns that blinked false promises at passerby was overwhelming to a ave reared in Mos Espa, a sandy spaceport not renowned for its architecture, its culture, or its modern technology. In fact, it was such a rough, rustic trading center controlled by the Hutts that all sentients who desired to cultivate the impression that they were respectable or civilized would avoid it like a lethal pathogen.

However, Anakin wasn't the only one gazing out the viewport. Obi-Wan's eyes were also trained on the flickering cityscape. Yet, he clearly wasn't absorbing any of it, for his eyes had the bored, glazed expression typical of a Coruscanti inhabitant traveling through an ecumenopolis he had traversed through a million times in the past year alone. Glancing at him, it was easy to believe that he currently harbored all the emotion of a vibroknife. Doubtlessly, that was the image he was striving to create. Too bad for him that his steadily clenching and unclenching jaw betrayed him.

Reflexively, I reached out to him in the Force, but my probing was blocked by what felt like a duracrete wall on the fringes of his mind. I could have pushed harder. Obi-Wan was skilled at erecting barriers around his mind, but he wouldn't have been capable of deflecting me for very long. Still, even knowing this, I didn't shove further. After all, just because someone could do something, that didn't mean they should.

Further prying would be a violation of my Padawan's privacy, and I would respect his right to lock his feelings and thoughts away until he chose to share them with me. No doubt that would transpire after he had figured out exactly what thoughts and emotions were raging inside him. The fact that he hadn't worked out the whirlwind inside him yet was as clear as the transparisteel viewports encasing us in the cloud of turmoil that swished around his frame in the Force like an electron cloud around the nucleus of an atom.

When we landed on the pad, and Anakin, Obi-Wan, and I had disembarked the airtaxi, Obi-Wan seemed to determine that now was the time to express his disapprobation with this whole scenario, which he probably envisioned would be improved if Jar Jar suddenly governed everything. At least, though, Obi-Wan had possessed the tact to refrain from establishing his discontent until Anakin had disappeared with Artoo to speak with Ric Olie, the Queen's pilot.

As the airtaxi that had ferried us to the platform receded into the teeming Coruscant traffic, Obi-Wan asked me in a strained tone, "Are you sure about this― taking the boy back to Naboo along with us?"

At his words, I bristled. It wasn't so much the question as his intonation that raised my hackles. From the skepticism that he didn't bother to conceal in so much as a syllable, he regarded my plan to take Anakin with us as approximately as prudent as a carnival swordsman abruptly upgrading his act to a lightsaber. To be honest, I wasn't exactly enamored of the idea of dragging Anakin into the conflict between the Queen and the Trade Federation. However, I could see no viable alternative, and Anakin would be fine. I would keep an eye on him, and, anyway, he was used to danger, so he would know how to handle it.

Besides, it wasn't as if Obi-Wan were concerned for Anakin's wellbeing. No, he just didn't want Anakin to accompany us because he disliked the lad even more than he did Jar Jar. Thus, he wanted Anakin as far away from him as possible. Obi-Wan did not suffer beings like Jar Jar whose intelligence quotient began with a decimal point gladly, but he cared for threats even less, and Anakin was a threat to him. Even before the meeting with the Council, Anakin's superskytower high midichlorian count had discomfited him, since it was something inexplicable. Anything that could not be explained rationally was instantly suspect in his opinion. How very like the Council he was, but…

"Even the Council has agreed that he should accompany us, Obi-Wan," I reminded him curtly. I expected that the warning for him to relinquish the issue at once inherent in my tone combined with the reference to the ruling of the Council that he was obsessed with obeying and serving would be enough to quell him.

"Well, I don't," mumbled Obi-Wan mutinously, proving me wrong.

My aggravation rose exponentially, and, in an exercise of Jedi discipline, I resisted the overpowering temptation to grind my teeth together. There were times when I was convinced that my apprentice was passive-aggressive. How else could I explain the grumbled arguments and the sardonic mutters that were designed to hint that he was vexed about something while never actually stating precisely what his grievance was?

Whatever excuse he had, it didn't render his behavior any less grating, especially as he should have been more adept at explaining his problems by now, instead of merely alluding to them.

"I'm afraid that the wind carried some of your words away from me. Would you care to repeat that previous remark, Padawan?" I replied, arching an eyebrow at him. My voice and eyes were colder than the wind whipping at us as we stood on the platform, awaiting the arrival of the Queen and her entourage.

The Obi-Wan that I had known since he was thirteen would have lowered his eyes and muttered an apology, that he did not wish to repeat himself, or that he had only offered some acquiescence earlier. Unfortunately, the Obi-Wan that I was familiar with appeared to have been murdered in the Council chamber and to have been replaced by an obstinate but identical evil twin.

This malevolent duo met my eyes boldly, his own blue stare icily confident as he reiterated levelly, "I said, 'Well, I don't'― agree that he should accompany us, that is."

That was unlucky for him, because I had made my decision already. Anakin was coming with us, no matter how much Obi-Wan detested the notion. Furthermore, I was weary of being interrogated by my own headstrong apprentice. When he was Knighted, he could decide everything for himself on his missions. Until then, he would follow my lead, and he would do well to recollect that.

"I wasn't aware that I requested your opinion on this matter, my_ young_ apprentice," I observed frigidly, my eyes contracting.

"Don't bother to apologize, Master, because I'm quite accustomed to the fact that my feelings don't matter by now, so the fact that they don't in one more instance hardly impacts me at all." Calling Obi-Wan tone sarcastic as he established as much would have been an understatement akin describing a hurricane as a slight drizzle.

Plainly, he was still smarting from the scene in the Council chamber and was convinced that I hadn't been concerned with his feelings then. This was all very ironic. He always argued that duty to the big picture outweighed personal feelings, but he wasn't so enthusiastic about the idea when it was him that was being hurt by this philosophy. I couldn't have designed a better training exercise to show him the pitfalls of that perspective if I had tried. Of course, I hadn't attempted to do so. Life had done it, not me, and, once time had passed, he would see that he hadn't come away from the deal as short-changed as he imagined. After all, he would get to be a Knight, and that was what he had always wanted. Everyone got to be equally happy, or equally miserable, depending on whether one was an optimist or a pessimist.

His attitude had frayed away my remaining patience, though. If he had a serious problem, why couldn't he address it without the mountains of sarcasm and save us both some time?

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don't know where this new disrespectful attitude came from." Here, I paused for a beat, inviting him to actually talk about what was really troubling him. Yet, he didn't seize the opportunity. Instead, he clamped his lips together and remained stonily silent. Well, there was no profit in pushing the issue. Discussing his feelings was challenging enough when Obi-Wan desired to do so. Striving to do so when he didn't want to examine his emotions verbally would be an uphill battle waged in the mud and in a hailstorm, so I continued, "Wherever it arose from is of no consequence, but it will stop now, because it is childish and beneath you. Do you understand me?"

Without waiting for any sort of affirmation, I pivoted and strode toward the Queen's vessel. However, I hadn't gone far when Obi-Wan hurried after me.

"Master, can the boy please remain here?" he persisted.

"I've already decided that he is coming with us," I informed him tersely, wishing that he would desist in beating a dead gundark.

"He's dangerous," insisted Obi-Wan, his chin jutting out resolutely. If he had learned nothing else from me, he had mastered the art of argument, apparently. Regrettably, he had learned nothing about respect in his apprenticeship, it seemed at the moment. "Don't take him with us, Master."

"Do not disrespect me by questioning my decisions, Padawan," I admonished.

"It's not disrespect, Master. It's the truth," contended Obi-Wan, exasperation glinting in his eyes.

"From your point of view, perhaps," I countered dismissively. His view was suspect, anyway, since it was clearly colored by his emotions.

"The boy is dangerous," he maintained, struggling to keep his composure. "They all sense it. Why can't you?" His tone made it apparent that he deemed that I was influenced by affection for Anakin, which prevented me from spotting the peril in the boy.

He was wrong. I realized that it was dangerous to educate someone in the ways of a Jedi if their natural urges had not been replaced since infancy with conditioned Jedi ones. Yet, I had always recognized that nothing spectacular was ever achieved without matching risks. Gambling wasn't always wise, but it was oftentimes necessary. All massive corporations started as laughable penny stocks, after all.

Anyway, that was such a standard Obi-Wan argument. It was just like him to yank the Council into this, although I had never been one to abide rigidly with the Council's dictates. Personally, ever since I was a child, I had been convinced that it was the epitome of folly to substitute someone else's judgment for your own, especially when you were right there in the situation, and, therefore, knew best what should be done. Surrendering the decision to somebody else had always appeared like a simple path for the intellectually lazy or those who didn't want to be burdened by reaching a conclusion on their own to take. Obi-Wan was aware of my feelings on this issue and still he remained dogmatically devoted to the Council's every ruling for whatever reason.

"His fate is uncertain, not dangerous," I corrected him, my voice clipped and containing a definite edge. "The Council will decide Anakin's future. That should be enough for you. Now get on board."

For a moment, Obi-Wan just glared at me, conveying quite eloquently the fact that he had noticed how I had evaded his questions and how aggravated he was that I was calling rank. Then, he spun on his heel and marched briskly up the ramp onto the Queen's ship. Well, that went brilliantly, I thought wryly.


	4. Chapter 4

Resolutions

Many adjectives could have described the voyage back to Naboo, but the most apt one I could think of was stifled. The Nubian guards were as tense as Ruutanian nek dogs that had just scented prey, because they had no more knowledge of whether their queen's plan would be successful than glowflies did. Queen Amidala's cadre of handmaidens were pale with worry about the suffering their fellow citizens were enduring under the Trade Federation. Although it was difficult to discern what Amidala's emotions were under the elaborate makeup that coated every inch of her face, she seemed anxious as well, and I would be telling a terrible falsehood if I stated that she didn't have just cause for concern. As the elected ruler of the Naboo, she was responsible for defending them. If her plan backfired, then she would feel like their blood stained her hands as much as it did the hands of the merchant guild that had invaded her planet.

Being an exceptionally clever and alert child, Anakin had picked up on the taut atmosphere, and, when he wasn't examining a piece of technology in the cockpit with Ric Olie, it wasn't uncommon for his brow to furrow in an imitation of everyone else's sober expressions. Even Jar Jar appeared slightly more concerned. This meant that the excitable creature jumped at even the most mundane, common noises, and knocked over countless objects over the course of the journey.

I was on edge, too, and it wasn't just the Naboo problem that was plaguing me. To admit the truth to the one audience that every sentient from both spiral arms of the galaxy is capable of lying most convincingly to, oneself, the dispute with Obi-Wan on Coruscant was still bugging me. Two beings who spent most of their lives in constant contact with each other were guaranteed to run into arguments, and nobody who was minimally sane could assert that Obi-Wan and I hadn't encountered our fair share. As individuals with differing approaches to life, we disagreed frequently enough. For years now, though, most of our arguments had been minor, since we had both learned from the fiasco on Melida/Daan. Or had we?

After none of our altercations in recent memory had we both launched such a successful campaign to ignore each other. Normally, we could discuss an issue rationally until we arrived at a resolution, but, at the present, not only did we refrain from speaking to each other, we also stubbornly refused to glance at one another. Perhaps we were both afraid of what words would spill out of our mouths if we acknowledged each other, or maybe we were both petrified that we might be wrong.

Among the Jedi, it was commonplace to compare the relationship between a Master and his or her Padawan to that of a parent and child. In the circumstances, it fit as well as any comparison could be expected to, and, just as there were various types of bonds between parents and their offspring, there were several sorts of relationships between Masters and their apprentices. Some Jedi Knights were forever at odds with their young charges, and when the Padawan passed the Trials and the Knighting ceremony was complete, both parties were relieved that years of endless squabbling had finally reached their somewhat anticlimactic termination. Others cooperated decently enough, but the ties linking them together were essentially those of mutual convenience and would wither away once the student attained the rank of a full-fledged Knight as comlink calls gradually diminished into nothing. However, in lucky cases, the bond between a Master and an apprentice would blossom into a genuine friendship and a relationship that would endure long after the ritual severing of the Padawan braid.

For many years, I had assumed that Obi-Wan and me would belong in the final category. Now, though, I was confronting the very real possibility that we might be shunted into the second or even the first category, depending on how rapidly and how far relations between us degenerated. It didn't seem fair that ties that had taken years of hard, dedicated work could be destroyed in a few days. Yet, that was what was occurring between the pair of us. A few days ago, we could have gazed at each other's features and instantly inferred one another's deepest emotions. Now, we couldn't even talk about our feelings with each other, or even meet one another's eyes. As far as I could see, the only way to cross the breach that was building up between us would be for one of us to apologize. Unfortunately, I had the nasty suspicion that neither of us would do so before the universe contracted on itself again. After all, we were similar in that we were both too determined for our own good.

Of course, I noted wryly to myself as I stared out at the swamp Jar Jar had dived into in the hope of rallying the Gungans to the Queen's cause, we were both convinced that we were in the right. I was positive that I had behaved correctly, because there was an aura of destiny around Anakin that informed me far more clearly and more powerfully than words that the boy must be trained no matter what. If nobody else would do so, then I would have to.

Yes, I knew that I was right, but a vast majority of Jedi would not share my enlightened viewpoint when the inevitable gossip about the scene in the Council circulated. I had no doubt that most Jedi would regard instructing Anakin in the ways of a Jedi at his age as much too risky. Even those who agreed that he should be trained probably wouldn't condone how I had tried to ensure that he be educated in our ways. When we returned to the Temple, Obi-Wan was guaranteed to discover a lot more sympathetic ears to complain to than I was.

However, I amended judiciously, he was unlikely to use them. It wasn't in his nature to complain about how I treated him. Other apprentices might make a habit of grumbling that a reprimand was undeserved or too harsh, but he never did. He seemed to accept whatever treatment he received from me as his due, and if he ever imagined that I was too severe on him, he appeared to shove the notion out of his brain by telling himself that everything I did was done for his benefit—to train him well.

He had been an excellent apprentice. In fact, in many ways, he was the perfect Padawan: humble, loyal, attentive, respectful, and obedient. Now, I couldn't prevent a traitorous contingency inside my head that hissed insidiously that I had not been as good a Master to Obi-Wan as he had been an apprentice, and that if I couldn't manage to be a good Master to Obi-Wan, how in all the neighboring galaxies could I be any more successful with Anakin.

At this point, my musing was interrupted by a ripple in the Force as Obi-Wan arrived beside the swamp. An awkward quiet engulfed us both for an agonizing moment, and then Obi-Wan announced, "Jar Jar is on his way to the Gungan city, Master."

Since I was standing on the bank of the odiferous swamp already, I surmised that he knew that I was already aware of this fact, and that this was just a typical Obi-Wan factoid. Obi-Wan's mind was packed with facts ranging from the trivial to the important that he had picked up reading anything from holobooks in the Jedi Archives to protein bar wrappers, and he often drew on them for conversation starters. Accumulating a mass of factoids had probably initially been his method of combating his unease around others by ensuring that he had a store of information that he could employ on any given topic, so that he would always have something to say. Over the years, though, he had noticed another effective means of deploying his factoids. That is, he had discovered that establishing a fact, no matter how simplistic, that everyone could agree on could have the diplomatic effect of lowering everybody's hackles for a brief timeframe. After all, it built a tenuous common ground between two sides that hopefully could be expanded upon.

At the moment, Obi-Wan was probably hoping that his factoid would serve both purposes, so there was no profit in informing him that I already knew Jar Jar had departed. Instead, I just nodded and remarked absently, "Good."

"Do you think the Queen's idea will work?" asked Obi-Wan, who had obviously wished for a lengthier response to his comment. He was still treading carefully, as if our exchange was an ocean that he could drown himself in if he wasn't cautious, and he was keeping the subject to neutral, business matters that were unrelated to Anakin or the scene in the Council.

"The Gungans will not be easily swayed," I answered. Thinking that he could be nearly impossible to persuade, as well, I eyed him pointedly before continuing, "And we cannot use our power to help her."

The instant that the words escaped my lips, I regretted the implication that I had laced them with. Obi-Wan was striving to mend the rift that had developed between us, and I should be encouraging him, instead of making the process more challengining for him. Abruptly, I recalled with a sickening twist of my stomach the relationship between Dooku and me. In that partnership, it had forever been me who was craving a sign of approval or affection, and I had repeatedly been rebuffed. When it came down to it in the final analysis, my Master was a cold man who could not feel warmth for any sentient, and he had not wanted a true friendship to form between us, and so it never had. As a result, I had always sworn to myself that I wouldn't treat any Padawan I took with the same frigidity. Yet, now I found myself facing the unflattering realization that maybe I could be as intimidatingly distant as Dooku had been.

Perhaps I was overreacting, though. It was entirely possible that this was the curse of all Masters and apprentices. Maybe all Padawans were doomed to stare at their mentors and convince themselves that they were a disappointment to their teachers, just as all Masters were fated to gaze at their pupils and feel that they had failed them, since they had neglected to impart their most important lesson. For me, I knew I had failed Obi-Wan because I had not shown him how to have true faith in himself and his instincts. Perhaps Yoda had been high on glitterstim all those times he had declared that Obi-Wan and I were a perfect match, as Obi-Wan may have been a perfect apprentice, but I was undeniably an imperfect Master.

Luckily, Obi-Wan was persistent and he tried again to establish a connection between us, because he was wise enough to know that a whole bond was more significant than winning one debate. It was just one of the numerous manners that he was wiser than me, and yet another reason why he would be a greater Jedi than me.

"I—I'm sorry for my behavior, Master," he hedged, fiddling with the sleeves of his robes to avoid meeting my gaze. This discussion dealt with emotions, and emotions were always his vulnerability. On the surface, he almost always appeared composed, but beneath that exterior was a heart capable of feeling as much as anyone and more than many. It was easy to forget that. I certainly had when I had stood before the Council. I instructed him ceaselessly to trust his instincts, but when they conflicted with mine, I brushed them away. How could he possibly have faith in himself when I rejected him when we first met, only accepted him after he had almost died for me on Bandomeer, and blamed him for everything that had transpired on Melida/Daan when that disaster was as much my fault as his? After years under my tutelage, no wonder he was so careful and reserved. "It is not my place to disagree with you about the boy, and…I am grateful that you think I am ready for the Trials."

"You have been a good apprentice." I smiled warmly at him, trying to make up for everything in one moment, even though such a feat was impossible to achieve. Sometimes the attempt was all that mattered when the objective could never be obtained. "You are much wiser than I am, Obi-Wan. I foresee that you will become a great Jedi."

"If I do, it will be because of what you have taught me," he countered, as uncomfortable with praise as usual. I thought that it was more likely that he would become an exceptional Jedi in spite of me, not because of me. However, I couldn't state as much. Doing so would only prompt a negation from a flustered Obi-Wan and transform a somber moment into a satirical, exaggeratedly polite "after-you" argument. Besides, Jar Jar was emerging from the murky depths of the swamp, and we had our duties as Jedi to attend to once more.


End file.
